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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24626536">Something New</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juldooz/pseuds/Juldooz'>Juldooz</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Christmas In July | Christmas Out Of Season, Doctor Hooper, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Huddling For Warmth, Mistaken as Lovers, Sharing a Bed, Sherlolly Appreciation Week, Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2020, Trapped in an Elevator</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 11:14:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,738</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24626536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juldooz/pseuds/Juldooz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Here is something that I started months ago. Originally intended for the Sherlolly Appreciation Week, and still following that same format. This story follows our favorite two individuals through a few of the best tropes out there. Set during HLV and goes through S4. Have fun reading! Hope you like it!</p><p>Thanks again for reading. And THANK YOU to my helpful beta reader/editor extraordinaire forthegenuine. Go check out her writing, its wonderful.</p><p>Also, I own nothing, not my intellectual property.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>97</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Overnight Stay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Molly felt as though she was about to fall on her face. It had been a long day for her at the hospital, but before she could make it home, Sherlock had commandeered her. Not to stay late, no. He didn’t need the lab. He had actually shown up, overnight bag in hand, and said he needed her help for a case.</p><p> </p><p>Out of town.</p><p> </p><p><em> “You want my help on a case that’ll bring us </em> out of town<em>?” she clarified, doubtlessly broadcasting her confusion to his highly perceptive mind.  </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Yeees, I do take cases of that nature from time to time.” regarding her as he answered. Sherlock continued to peer at her, seeming slightly bewildered as he questioned, “Surely you know this?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> “Of course </em> you <em> do Sherlock. I’m just a little surprised at being asked along. Certainly I’d get in the way after a while or slow down that big brain of yours or something.” </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sherlock’s brow remained furrowed as he asserted that “Obviously you’re being obtuse and dismissive of your abilities,” because her “Helpfulness in the lab would indisputably be transferable to the field even for extended periods of time considering your extensive insight in both forensic pathology and an intelligence for the more emotional aspects of the case.”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It was quite possibly the last turn that she could have expected her day to take. </p><p> </p><p>It had been three weeks since he’d done a runner and needed to be readmitted to the hospital for internal bleeding from opening his barely healed wounds. Four weeks since he’d been shot. Four weeks since he’d come into her lab high. Nearly nine weeks since John and Mary’s wedding. And not a single day since his return that she’d wondered how he was possibly managing to cope with life after his experience as a dead man. So, although she was the one practically dead on her feet after finishing a regular twelve hour shift, she had agreed to join him for what she hoped was a fairly low stakes case. </p><p> </p><p>They spent more than two hours on the train, followed by another half hour in the car, driving through the sticky night air to get to the small town where they would soon begin to unravel some new and exciting mystery. But first, Molly needed a shower and a long rest. It was warm this summer and the heat, as well as her schedule, was exhausting. Besides, the lateness of the hour ensured that she’d be of no help in this state. </p><p> </p><p>After Sherlock checked them into the last available room, she made her way up in a daze while he continued to speak to the manager. No doubt asking his myriad of puzzling, seemingly unrelated, questions. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t until she opened the door to the moderately sized room that she realized it happened to have only one double bed. Molly let out a heavy sigh as she mentally prepared herself for the night ahead. Sharing space with Sherlock wasn’t anything new, but it always seemed like it. Like the cousin you used to share with when you were kids, but now you’re adults and while it's fine it is no longer <em> fine </em>. Nights like these usually came with awkward silences and more pronounced breeching of comfort zones. </p><p> </p><p>Well then, nothing to do but adjust her expectations of comfort tonight! This should only <em> slightly </em> affect the level of rest she would achieve. She was utterly exhausted and there was only so much that having another person around could do to stop her from sleeping when she really needed it. </p><p> </p><p><em> I hope this is worth it </em>, she thought. Though she wasn’t sure if she meant the case or the man.</p><p> </p><p>Turning to her bag Molly mustered all of her strength in order to get through the task at hand and finish this never ending day. As she began to open it she was struck with the thought of what she might find, or not find, seeing as Sherlock was the one to pack it for her. The self assured prat had actually arrived at the hospital with her bag in tow, already packed, having gone to her house first to “save time”. She hoped Sherlock thought to grab more than he might for himself. Molly preferred to be over prepared. </p><p> </p><p>It turned out that she was completely taken care of, the man who often eschewed material comforts (despite his own designer wardrobe) did not fail to provide her with every mortifying necessity. Molly wasn’t sure if this was more comforting or worrisome that he had taken the liberties needed to do such a thing. Soon after she’d unpacked her small bag she made sure to just do the bare minimum of work needed to finally be allowed to lay down and let her body stop. With a clean face and fresh breath, she changed into her pajamas. Just in time too. She had scarcely finished redressing when she heard the key in the lock and the doorknob jiggle. </p><p> </p><p>Panic mingled with relief as she jumped straight in bed, managing to beat her imaginary deadline, and slipped under the covers before Sherlock came fully into the room. </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Brain buzzing with new information, Sherlock made his way up to the room. There was only so much he could do at this hour. He’d stayed to talk to the night manager about the town and made his inquiries concerning certain names and attempting to discover anything suspicious. It helped a little, it gave him a better picture of the situation as a whole. But, again, nothing else could be done until he saw his client in the morning. </p><p> </p><p>Thoughtlessly he entered the room and looked up just as he saw a foot going around the corner toward the bed. </p><p> </p><p>Understanding that Molly must be exhausted by now, he started to formulate a plan for the next day so they could go over the particulars quickly and just get it over with. </p><p> </p><p>“No clues yet.” he informed her, calling softly out of the small hallway entrance. Walking fully into the room he continued, “We’ll have to wait to speak to Mrs. Chang in the morning before we can begin to get anywhere.”</p><p> </p><p>He glanced over an Molly as she rested in the bed, looking nearly gone in the span of only a minute since his entrance. She gave him a weak nod, not even attempting to open her eyes or acknowledge him with words. </p><p> </p><p>Sherlock took a moment to study her, then he turned to settle himself in for the night as well. He made a quick job of it, more ready than he had expected to lay down and get through the tedious steps of going to sleep before he could eventually get to work. </p><p> </p><p>As he came around the bed and layed down he was careful to not disturb Molly as she now seemed to be fully asleep. After some slight adjusting he found there was nothing left to do, but his mind, perhaps his nerves, still kept him on alert. Perhaps tonight he could distract himself with organizing facts in his mind palace, or make his way down to the lobby and browse the brochures for any scrap of something helpful. </p><p> </p><p><em> Dull, </em> Sherlock sighed. <em> I hate this part. Why does everyone insist on sleep! I don’t want to wait to get started, I need more information now.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Still brooding, Sherlock looked over at his dozing companion and couldn’t help but smile softly at the woman beside him. Despite the added pressure to be quiet or go to sleep like “a normal person” as John had always complained, he was glad she came along. </p><p> </p><p>It was so much better to work with an assistant. No -- colleague, or accomplice? -- someone to think out loud to. Someone who would be dazzled by his brilliance, someone to help guide him through the myriad landmines of diplomacy and societal correctness, someone on his side when the local constabulary inevitably pushed back against him no matter how right he was. </p><p> </p><p>Molly wasn’t a soldier, like John, but she was fierce. She had shown her steely backbone many times over the years, even on occasion to him. And she was whip smart, nearly as attuned to the nuances and microscopic details of a crime scene than he was. But mostly, he was glad to have her loyalty. The Work often brought trials and dangers that he was always ready to face, but having a confidante, a friend, at his side bolstered him, helped him stay focused on the case at hand and not grow weary of those intent on dragging him down.</p><p> </p><p>In lieu of clearing his throat Sherlock said, “Goodnight, Molly” at full volume, not realizing how quiet the room had become, and ended up startling himself. Molly, gratefully, fluttered her eyes for only a moment as she continued to sleep curled onto her side, facing him, hands placed under her head. </p><p> </p><p>“<em> ‘Nighsshlock </em>.” She murmured in response. </p><p> </p><p>Sherlock smiled a bit wider before turning over and switching off the bedside lamp. </p><p> </p><p>~oOo~</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Mistaken as Lovers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next morning, Molly felt as though she was constantly on the back foot. From waking up to a fully dressed Sherlock impatiently demanding she get ready and “stop wasting precious daylight” to the coffee she drank hastily burning the inside of her mouth to the pinch in her neck not going away by the time they got in the car, she felt like she was continually trying to catch up.</p><p> </p><p>It took a while, not until they got to the client’s home, for her to feel as though she was finally awake.</p><p> </p><p>“Welcome, Mr. Holmes. Thank you for coming out here at my request. It was so odd how it started, but now my worry has grown to something I can no longer ignore.” She paused as they entered the sitting room, “Can I offer you or your wife anything to drink?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well--” Molly began before Sherlock spoke up.</p><p> </p><p>“None for me. Tea, Molly?” He asked, looking pointedly at her. She got the impression that he didn’t need her correcting their host. Molly saw no reason that making such a simple correction should be an obstacle worth avoiding, however, now the moment had passed it suddenly felt it would be too much of a bother. And, honestly, she assumed he must have his reasons.</p><p> </p><p>Looking back at Mrs. Chang she responded, “I’d love a cuppa, thanks.”</p><p> </p><p>The kind, younger woman stepped through the doorway into the kitchen adjacent to prepare the tea. Molly looked at him then, complete with furrowed brow and raised shoulders to emphasize her question, to which Sherlock only shrugged and responded by making a face that communicated nothing helpful. He mostly gave her the impression that he himself wasn’t so sure as to the reason for his actions. To her, it almost seemed to say, “I don’t really know, and I don’t think it matters to find out.” Rolling her eyes, she sat down and waited for their host to return.</p><p> </p><p>“What seems to be the issue then, Mrs. Chang?” Sherlock called into the other room.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I’ll see what I can tell you, it’ll be better once we get to the mortuary. Better to see if for yourself than hear about it I bet,” she said as she returned with refreshments for both herself and for Molly.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, so where are the bodies kept, and from which direction exactly did you hear the noise you described come?” Sherlock demanded upon entering the building. Adding congenially, “You were correct. It is better for me to see the space and actual evidence we’re dealing with.”</p><p> </p><p>“The morgue is in the back of the building. But I always hear the whistling sound from out here, and only while I’m working on a patient.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, show us the morgue first, then you may describe to Molly your process and procedures while I get to work. She is vastly more familiar with the minutiae of a post-mortem than I am.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh! Are you a pathologist yourself, Dr. Holmes?” she asked Molly in interest.</p><p> </p><p>“Molly is the very best in all of London, the only one I’ll work with,” Sherlock interjected.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, that's right,” Molly acquiesced, still following Sherlock’s lead. She took a fortifying breath as she hoped to somehow manage to withstand this conversation, “I’ve been at St. Bart’s for eight years now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wonderful! I'd love to hear all about the differences of a big city morgue. What have been the benefits to your situation at the hospital?”</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock followed a few paces behind the women, keeping an ear to the conversation as he looked around them, gathering as much information as was pertinent to the case as they went.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Many hours later, after another rousing day of being on her feet, Molly was looking forward to sitting down for a meal. A full, uninterrupted meal, along with a glass of wine and hopefully dessert as well. The case was closed, so she felt confident in her ability to achieve this particular goal considering the fact that Sherlock would be less distracted and more willing to eat something himself.</p><p> </p><p>As the pair followed their waiter through the small, dimly lit and crowded restaurant, a thrill at the odd sense of comfort she was experiencing came over her. She hadn’t quite noticed it yet. Last night she had gone to sleep with a self-fulfilling, awkward self-awareness. But today she had been far too busy to allow her own timidity and unease to rule over her actions. Now, here she was, successfully solving a case, sitting down for dinner with Sherlock. It felt as though she was living another life. A life where there had been no recent engagement to another man, a life where everyone, oddly, went around calling her Dr. Holmes.</p><p> </p><p>The realization of this began to make her giddy. Perhaps it was the post-case buzz, or maybe it was the half glass of wine she’d already drunk before the food arrived. But Molly wasn’t going to over-think herself back into that state of discomfort.</p><p> </p><p>As they finished their meal the waiter brought out one final dish.</p><p> </p><p>“On the house,” he said with a wink as he placed a single plate with two spoons down in front of them.</p><p> </p><p>“Have you noticed-”</p><p> </p><p>“Probably.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sherlock,” Molly responded in mock censure. “Have you noticed that everyone this whole trip has assumed that we are married, or at least a couple? Even the hotel concierge said ‘Hope you enjoyed your stay <em> Mr. and Mrs. Holmes </em>’ this morning when we checked out.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. And what of it, Molly?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not much I suppose,” she responded thoughtfully. “I was just wondering what they see. Obviously, it's easy to assume any man and woman traveling together might be a couple, but we hardly look or act like one.”</p><p> </p><p>Molly, nearly full from dinner, bravely soldiered on to enjoy their dessert as Sherlock watched her curiously, making no move to join her in consuming their final course.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry about it, Sherlock. I was only wondering. I’m sure you don’t mind what anyone else assumes, especially people out here that you probably won’t work with again.”</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock continued to consider her, adding a fond twitch at the corner of his mouth before responding, “No, of course not. I don’t concern myself with what strangers--barely acquaintances--think about me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you going to have any of this? It’s so delicious.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right, of course,” he answered as he picked up his utensil and took a bite before setting it back down again. Returning to the subject he added carelessly, hoping to maintain his casual air, “However, I do care what <em>you </em>think. I do trust your judgment, Molly. Your opinion on the matter is what counts and I don’t agree that it is so wildly surprising for those who don’t know us to make the obvious assumptions. You are top in your field. You have written many insightful, and some groundbreaking, papers on the future of forensics and have an academic resume that put many to shame. You are very bright and capable, and you see me. People are sure to pick up on that sort of ease and closeness and make the common assumptions.”</p><p> </p><p>Molly, who had looked up at Sherlock at the beginning of his speech, was now staring at him, mouth open in surprise. She slowly began to give Sherlock her bright and humble smile. She understood the kindness of his gesture, for him to make the effort to assure her of her place in his life, and felt the sincerity of it wash over her. That, even though their relationship wasn’t what she might have hoped for before, he considered her an equal of sorts. And his choice to reiterate his past approvals of her warmed her heart.</p><p> </p><p>Shaking herself from her stupor she teased, “So, you’ve read my research papers?”</p><p> </p><p>“Obviously.” Sherlock playfully scoffed in return.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Sherlock,” Molly added more sincerely, giving him one of her brighter smiles.</p><p> </p><p>Despite the strange limbo much of their life in London was experiencing, to have her assurance in their friendship reaffirmed by him gave her hope. In what exactly, she wasn’t sure. Though she felt certain they would never share a whirlwind romance, his sentiments had caused her eyes to shine and her heart to fill with a familiar feeling of contentment nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p><em> Definitely worth the headache, </em> she decided, silently memorializing his moment of tenderness forever in her mind.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>~oOo~</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>All this work does not belong to me.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3: ”Trapped” in a Small Space</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A week after the out of town case Molly found herself finishing up in the lab, going over the checklist and restocking equipment for the following day, when Sherlock burst in quite suddenly. Glancing over her shoulder she gently commanded, “Anything you need tonight needs to be quick Sherlock, I’m about to head home.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No problem, there is no case at the moment,” he said, sweeping through the room and into the furthest cold storage unit. “I’ll just be checking on my samples and leave with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They worked separately in amicable silence for another half hour. Then placing the last item back in its place Molly looked over her shoulder to the corner where Sherlock was gracefully replacing the petri dishes and spoke up, “Alright, ready to go?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“All finished here, Molly.” Sherlock bent over the worktop to make a final notation before turning around and working his way toward the door to join her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As they entered the hallway, they fell back into the same comfortable silence they’d shared in the lab. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>However, once they stepped into the lift Molly began to feel slightly tense. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Should she say something? What needed to be said? Did he really come all the way to the hospital for a mere thirty minutes of culture checking? Where was he expecting to go next?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Standing in the center of the lift, both facing the doors, shoulders barely a distance of fifteen centimeters, Molly felt the, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very likely</span>
  </em>
  <span>, one-sided tension rising. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So Sherlock, had a quiet week, have you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gracing Molly with a side glance and a smirk, he asked, “What makes you say that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well,” she began, staring blankly at the lift buttons, “You haven’t been into either the lab or the morgue since we returned from that case last week. I would say that means you’ve been too busy to come in searching for distractions, but Greg has been in a couple times without you.” Molly trailed off for a moment before continuing. “And I had lunch with Mary the other day and she said you’ve been sending John home everyday after only a couple hours at Baker Street.” At this she glanced at him sheepishly, feeling uncertain of how he would react to the subject of Mary. The Watsons’ relationship had been strained for nearly a month now and Sherlock seemed caught in the middle of it somehow. Molly wanted to proceed with caution around anything concerning them, seeing as she really wasn’t sure what had happened.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock turned to look at her more fully, waiting a moment before responding. “Yes,” he said faintly before taking a deep breath and returning his eyes to the front of their temporary cell. “You’re quite right. The criminal class has been very dull this week.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How’ve you kept yourself entertained then without coming in to ask for spare parts, or beginning yet another experiment here at the lab?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you know,” he mused, “composing, deducing people from the sitting room window, watching the dust settle around the flat…” he finished lamely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At this Molly looked at him closely and with more curiosity. What she saw surprised her. In fact, she was afraid to admit how scared it actually made her because he looked, well, sad. She wasn’t sure what could be the cause of his sadness. It seemed to be a mix of how he looked before he jumped from Barts and the look he gave her last year on the day she joined him to solve crimes. Both of those times could be explained as a worry over the loss of John. Loss of John at the hand of Jim. Then the loss of John at the hands of his own betrayal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What could it be this time? Mary and John’s marriage? Their baby? Surely he knew he was like family to them by now? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell me what’s wrong?” She couldn’t help the worry from creeping into her voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He immediately turned to face her in amazement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is it John, or Mary? Or is it the baby?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not them, no,” Sherlock answered cautiously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This confused Molly and heightened her concern. “If not them then, what is it?” She was watching his features searchingly as she spoke. “You know you always have people you can go to, John or Greg, even me. You don’t have to face things alone anymore.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Turning towards her completely now he smiled. It did little to comfort her, however, as his smile failed to reach his eyes and only served to make him seem even more heartbroken.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Molly,” he said with all sincerity. “I know I have you.” Their eyes remained locked as they both became lost in thought, stretching out the moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Molly was sure that despite the facts, despite the constant friendship she offered him, the way he</span><em><span> had to</span></em> <em><span>know</span></em><span> how she felt about him, that he still seemed to doubt his worthiness of it all. He could, indisputably, be a bit of a bastard, but she felt that those closest to him knew how to interpret most of his actions by now. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What could be holding him back from really trusting them? What kept him from fully trusting her, regardless of the many, many times she’s proved her loyalty? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What on earth was taking the lift so damn long? </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pulling their eyes away from each other, they seemed to realize nothing was happening in the same moment as they both looked at the control panel and simultaneously blushed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Damn! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Molly thought as she sheepishly reached for the button indicating the ground level. Keeping her eyes to the front, hoping to hide her embarrassment, Molly shrugged insecurely as she tried to find a way to salvage their conversation. Finally scrapping any attempt she simply said, “Well, just so long as you don’t forget to use me--I mean--” She bit her tongue and wrinkled her nose in frustration. She quickly gathered her thoughts and instead said, “There’s no sense in having friends if you don’t learn to lean on them and let them help you, Sherlock.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Molly gave him a tight smile and a quick nod indicating that she was fully finished putting her foot in her mouth. She’d said her peace, now all she could do was wait.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was exactly what he was afraid of. Standing in an immobile lift like a simpleton. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How could I have missed that? Me?! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sherlock silently scolded himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock spared a glance over at her. Molly’s embarrassment was still radiating off her, noting that her blush had scarcely diminished despite him being just as culpable in this whole dreadful moment. He shouldn’t have even come here tonight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock, for his part, was certain of many things in life. His high functioning brain had the capacity to always see cause and effect rippling out from a moment, distracting people and messing up their lives. He was able to confidently navigate these things, eschewing many complications with ease. Yet, ever since this woman in front of him came into his life things had slowly begun to shift. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everyone in his life believed that the Humanizing of Sherlock Holmes started the day he met John Watson. Sherlock, on the other hand, perceived that by then it had already begun. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If it hadn’t been for Molly’s obliging nature and her kind temperament Sherlock felt as though he would still be going through life by forcibly remaining as self-reliant and self-sufficient as he could manage. Until Molly, he had kept his walls up, avoiding anyone that tried to be “in his life”. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As soon as he began to operate out of Bart’s labs and they had started to work together, infrequent though it had been, he noticed the simple benefits that having the right assistant could bring. Someone who would hand things to him and take notes and generally praise his brilliance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was the Sherlock that John met. True, he had told John that most people told him to “piss off”, but it was John's awe that stuck out to him. Perhaps this person would also be a benefit to him in his drive to pursue The Work.   </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Over the years Molly had become more a part of his life than he could have imagined. It was nearly three years ago that he had finally understood that her worth to him had surpassed that of a lab assistant or colleague. The day he told her she counted to him was the day he realized he did have more than one friend. He had built himself a family of misfits. Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade were obvious members of his little collection, but less clear to those around him was Molly Hooper. She had slipped under his radar and was sure to be missed by Moriarty. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had worked. She was his friend and her help had saved him. But now, he needed to protect his people again, and this time that included Molly Hooper. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Moriarty may have missed her but Magnussen would not. She was too dear to him and it was too dangerous for anyone to know it. He was taking a risk being here now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I need to stay away. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally the doors opened to the correct floor. Turning to give a small nod and a brief “Good-night” Sherlock stalked through the hospital doors and off into the humid August air of London. Willing himself to not look back.</span>
</p><p>~oOo~</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Spectacularly Ignorant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Molly sat at the bar one late October evening feeling frustrated with the series of half-hearted choices that led her to this moment: Being chatted up by a virtual stranger. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Only worse because they were both here as part of Greg’s circle. Some friend from his weekend rugby league or something. So, not only would there be some social consequences to letting him down, she didn’t trust her ability to accomplish the task tactfully, but she didn’t have her usual fall back of “getting back to her group” either. She was stuck.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There she sat, stabbing the ice at the bottom of her glass and straining to find responses that were more thoughtful than “Oh, really?” and “Mhm, I see.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Molly was also finding it difficult to break out of the melancholy she felt, had been feeling for a while now. Work was good, it was productive and exciting; she loved her flat and was content with the companionship provided by Toby. Day to day her routines weren’t lacking for anything. She was a regular at the nearby coffee shop and often shared a friendly smile and genial chat with the employees there. And two or three times a week she went out with a friend or had them come to hers for an evening in turn. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No complaints there. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But there was one friend in particular who had shifted her routine. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock was different now. He did many of the same brilliant and confounding things, made similar demands, and took certain liberties, but recently he was doing so with much less frequently. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Things felt different between them and Molly was at a loss, not simply over what to do, but moreover, what the cause could be of this... this fracture in their friendship. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Even tonight, for example, her low-spirits at the moment had come from her hope that he would be here tonight. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> miss him and hoped to see him, but the thought of him failing to show up and disappoint her once again had almost kept her at home. And now here she was, listening to -- was it Peter or Paul? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Just when she thought herself to be most at risk of putting her foot in her mouth and proving just how little she was following his story they were interrupted.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A very surprising, but welcome, interruption in the form of familiar Belstaff clad arms wrapping around her middle as the weight of a warm face leaned further into her field of vision and came to rest on her shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Speaking loud enough for the other man to hear, he leaned in close and let his voice rumble through her. “Sorry I’m late, dear, were you waiting very long?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Molly was stunned for a long moment as she stared at him before she responded. “Sherlock! You made it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you sound so surprised? I told you I would.” He leaned away slightly so that he could better look at her with that dazzling smile of his. “It seems you weren’t left completely to yourself, however. Could you introduce me to your friend?” performing flawlessly the genial curiosity of a concerned boyfriend. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, oh yes. Of course, Sherlock, this is Paul. Paul knows Greg from the sports league they play on the weekends.” She said finally returning to the present situation and remembering the rest of the world around them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, yeah, it's Peter,” said the man holding out his hand to properly introduce himself to Sherlock. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Molly wasn’t red as soon as she realized whose arms she was in, she was fully crimson now. “Right, sorry,” she replied apologetically. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, nice to meet you. Molly. Sherlock.” Peter said with a nod as he got up to return to the others.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Molly smiled awkwardly after him until she felt she was safe from him glancing back towards them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing?!” She whispered sharply to the man who had come to stand in front of her now, though he kept his right hand on the back of her chair. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Saving you from one of the worst things imaginable,” he answered, clearly mystified at having to explain the obvious. But when the questioning look didn’t leave her face he clarified, “Unsolicited small talk.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, as much as I appreciate the gesture, I’m afraid the jig will soon be up. He knows Greg, and Greg knows we aren’t dating,” she said. Quirking her eyebrow she gave him a look that she hoped was chastising. She was most certainly not letting him off the hook seeing as she wasn’t the one who offered an easily disprovable lie as a way to escape from an agonizingly boring conversation. If she was going to go down she was decidedly going to take her with him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, I see,” he said with a contrite expression. “Well, one could argue it still doesn’t matter. It's not like the man is a colleague or friend to anyone else we know. The likelihood of running into him again and therefore having to face any real consequences is terribly low. Nonexistent in fact,” he finished confidently. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What if you’re wrong, Sherlock? I know it's unlikely, but the only thing I dislike more than dishonesty is being unjustly considered a liar.” Molly was sure that he was right, nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> come of it. But that didn’t help carry away her feelings of unease any quicker. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, then Dr. Hooper, I have only one suggestion for you,” he said conspiratorially, leaning closer into her personal space than he already was in such a crowded bar. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Molly looked up skeptically at him, trying to hide the thrill his words had given her. “What’s that then, Mr. Holmes?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Run!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Quickly he grabbed her hand and turned to leave the jam-packed pub.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Their exit was less of a quick getaway and more like a trial in perseverance. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Many ‘excuse me’s and ‘coming through’s later the two of them finally felt the sweet relief from the warm, stuffy room as they arrived outside and were met with the crisp, autumn air. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Molly, already breathless, found herself doubled over in laughter as Sherlock himself seemed amused at his poor attempt at a stealthy retreat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Molly said as she wiped tears from her eyes and her laughter began to slow. “If it wasn’t for your gallant interruption I would probably still be in there questioning all my life choices.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well then, as ill-conceived as you initially claimed it to be, you’re welcome,” he agreed as he looked down at her warmly, his smile slowly abated as their mirth died down. “Perhaps now you can go about your evening and no longer live with regret.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock’s heart caught in his throat at his choice of words. It was ironic really, him saying that to her. When he was the one -- this is why he’d been avoiding her. He hadn’t managed to have a conversation with Molly for less than thirty minutes without making things awkward. He felt ready to burst every time he was with her, but he must hold his tongue. Apparently, that was no longer a skill held by the World's Only Consulting Detective. Gone was the precise, cutting words that he wielded with such control as to make a compulsive liar tell the truth. It seemed his heart had turned that power against him. At least where Molly was concerned. Perhaps he had made a mistake coming here tonight. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But he had missed </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Molly, to her credit, tried to keep the mood light. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well Sherlock, I’m glad to see you. It seems like it's been ages,” shifting around to face him, wrapping her arms around her middle slightly as she acclimatized to the cooler temperatures outside the pub. “You’ve missed a few very interesting autopsies. Next time you happen to get bored I can fill you in on all the grizzly details.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There she was again, always considering his comfort. Although, he didn’t doubt that she found the idea of an evening going over post-mortem notes together just as appealing as he did. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Grateful for the offering of a safe subject, Sherlock covers his distraction by taking a deep breath before responding, “What a divinely gruesome suggestion, Molly. I’ve missed keeping up with the goings-on at the morgue. The criminal class can’t always be quite as inventive as freak accidents and unfortunate mishaps will be from time to time.” Looking at her again he asked, “And what about you, who’s been keeping you company without my gloomy specter haunting the halls of late?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, the students do quite a bit to fill up the day and make things go by much faster. And I quite like the quiet of an occasional night shift.” She pulled her arms more tightly around her waist to protect against the chill as she looked up at him and smiled dolefully, “But your absence is felt, Sherlock.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Noticing as she shivered Sherlock stepped forward and reached out to rub some warmth into her upper arms, but stilled as if realizing what he was doing. Awkwardly he moved his hands up to pat her shoulders before dropping his hands and stepping away. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Molly felt it again. A sudden shift. A door shut so certainly but silently she could not explain what had happened but she knew. She watched as he turned to wave down a cab, his silhouette cut against the streetlamps sharply. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nearly instantaneously one appeared. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It is too bad I can’t be there and hear more, but I have been quite busy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He approached it and opened the door for her and said, “Here, this one's yours,” as he stepped aside to allow her entrance. The pair locked eyes solemnly as she stepped in, an invisible boundary line drawn between them. He gave her one last, small smile before shutting the door behind her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looked up at him through the window. Silently cursing him for the wall he’d placed between them once more. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As the taxi pulled away she couldn’t stop the tears from welling up in her eyes as she bit her lip to stop it from trembling. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was being unfair. They both knew it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She was well aware when she promised herself to be there for him what it might entail, but knowing didn’t help ease the pain. It did, however, make her more willing to bear it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~oOo~</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Shielded from the Cold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Finally! An update. Thank you all for bearing with me. <br/>And thank you to forthegenuine for all your input. It has been vital to me. <br/>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Molly pulled the biscuits out of the oven and set them on the counter to cool. Icing all prepared and ready. While she waited, she started making hot chocolate. It was Christmas Eve and she was once again celebrating on her own. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had, for a brief moment, thought she’d be married to Tom by this time. She had pictured enjoying her favorite traditions, with someone by her side to share in them.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looking back over her relationship with Tom, as she whisked the cocoa together over the stove, she realized there weren’t actually too many things she’d hoped for in marrying him. Unfortunately for her, this was the one thing she had imagined in detail and had looked forward to. An intimate evening, just for them, settling in the night before festivities and sharing a quiet moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were always obligations on Christmas and busyness of the holiday itself, but after the deadlines and last-minute bustle of London died down, it would just be them, taking that moment to open their gifts to each other, away from his, admittedly intrusive, family. All those brothers and sisters-in-law, the cousins she wasn’t too familiar with yet, and finally, his mum. Always hinting at her never-ceasing desire for more grandchildren. Molly felt it was as though the woman was attempting to amass a dragon’s hoard, seeing as Tom already had seven nieces and nephews running around. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yes, Molly wasn’t all too disappointed not to have to endure the, probably chaotic, Christmas morning. Though she had hoped to be able to share the few moments that were so personal to her. Moments much like this one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been over two months since she'd seen Sherlock socially, or even for experiments, (she didn’t want to dwell too deeply on the fact that in the absence of Tom, he’s the one who came to mind). Recently all his time with her had seemed to deal strictly with casework. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On one hand, she didn’t truly feel too concerned about Sherlock's absence. It happened from time to time. and she would notice it more in the beginning before settling into her reset expectations. But, perhaps after her broken engagement, she started to feel how much more she’d lost than just Tom in the breakup. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Although she understood the separate circumstances to be entirely unrelated Molly felt that the small family she’d found and begun to count on had all been a bit preoccupied. Losing both the group she had clung to and the one she would potentially have had been a blow she did not expect.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Molly found herself becoming more frustrated as the day wore on. Surprised by the ferocity of her own hopes for the day and how desperately disappointed she had been when they did not come to fruition. All this disappointment and no one to blame but herself, and maybe the one person she endeavored not to hang her hopes on anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So Molly understood. She would always understand the Watson’s need to prioritize their marriage. She the enmity that crept between the couple as she listened to Mary, and even comprehend the seemingly insurmountable hurdles ahead of them. She understood Sherlock’s need to support them, and fight for them in ways that John didn’t seem ready to do himself. He had made a vow. </span>
  <em>
    <span>To them</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slamming the saucepan down more forcefully than she intended as her thoughts trailed back to Sherlock, Molly’s melancholy started to fizz into frustration thinking about his involvement with the Watson’s. Of <em>course</em> she was glad they had outside support, but she had never expected it to come from </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Of all the double standards. from accepting Mary to understanding John's need to move on was frustrating and hurtful to Molly The hypocrite, there he was heavily inserting himself into the middle of their relationship, no marriage, and she’d barely seen hide nor hair of him since her break up! Perhaps he didn’t think it was worth his time since there was obviously nothing there to salvage. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, here he was, having the Watson’s over to his parents, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mary mentioned</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and not her. She had felt this keenly in the face of losing what little hope she’d had in finding a fallback friend group without Tom. It made the fact that her found family was celebrating without her. Molly is feeling a bit of bitterness and hurt when Sherlock played hot and cold, he seemed to see her less socially, only come into the lab and morgue when necessary, and then surprise her by standing too close and making her feel important.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sitting uncomfortably in a tense and empty 221B, Sherlock was fidgeting with anxious boredom, agitated. He needed to act, he was ready for this game to be over. Playing opposite an opponent such as Magnusson had proved more troublesome than he initially assumed. Juggling the mind games and navigating John and Mary’s domestic bliss, all while studiously avoiding Molly lest he make an emotional misstep and consequently a grave tactical error, had begun to wear on him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So this evening he would not spend another long, excruciatingly dull night staring at the wall with his mind endlessly buzzing. Tonight he would allow himself time with Molly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stood, decisively, preparing to leave; quickly replacing his blue silk robe with his suit jacket and winding his scarf around his neck. He had missed her and Magnusson was as good as dealt with. Besides, what's Christmas Eve between friends? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fully convinced in the infallibility of his plan tomorrow, and buoyed further by having the option of a social activity that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> hate, Sherlock felt uncontainable and unstoppable, as though impervious to any and all negativity. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Months of his own physical recovery and navigating John and Mary’s messy emotions had preoccupied him well enough. And though Magnussun had proved a worthy adversary, once Sherlock pieced together the puzzle before him it boiled down to a simple waiting game. Come tomorrow he would be in the exact right position to gain access to the bargaining chip he needed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Going down the seventeen steps quickly he stepped into the cold night air almost slamming the door behind him. And as he turned to hail a cab he mused over the past two months since he’d spoken to her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How many times had his thumb hovered over an unsent text? How many moments had been spent pacing outside her flat, desirous of her company, but knowing that the excuse of “bolt hole” was becoming a bit too thin? How many days battling his self-control in order to stay away from St. Barts in an effort to be fair. His unfortunate moments of play-acting, pretending he was a different man who was living a different life, in the past had been selfish, thoughtless lapses in judgment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But once he was able to get past this last particular hurdle in the case he could finally be done with the games and constant vacillation over every impulse. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>People, in general, were idiots, everyone caught up in endless schemes, busyness, toiling hopelessly toward some unattainable dream. But men specifically were the most egregious perpetrators of this fact. Men became complete idiots when presented with the possibility of interest from a woman. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock had begun to notice humanity’s general mindlessness early on in his childhood. Then he started to notice his own gender’s heightened buffoonery as he became an adolescent. And it only grew worse with age. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was this observation that prompted him to ignore romantic entanglements and eschew all relationships with the opposite sex. While all his peers around him continually lost their heads, he endeavored to keep his own wits intact by remaining a ship unmoored and to stay focused on The Work. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For years he continued on in this fashion, seeking out cases and avoiding anything that involved </span>
  <em>
    <span>feelings</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Far too messy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>However, if these past two months had proved anything, longer than that really, not since he’d returned from the dead had Sherlock allowed himself to consider what life with Molly could be, it was that fighting to keep Molly safely in her room in his mind palace was infuriating and the cause of much more distress than any time spent with her had ever caused. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For not being a genius with a brain as big as his, she was more brilliant and insightful than most people in her field. And that was only their professional relationship. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Personally, Molly had become a pillar of strength and hope. He could always count on her joyful smiles and her optimistic outlook. Her ability to effortlessly offer tangible compassion to every moment awed him. He could recount the most harrowing tale, or she might have just finished a long grisly day, and though she was weary from it, as any healthy person would be, she was also able to bring a sense of peace to the lives involved in every story that he no longer could do without. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yes, two excruciating months of no Molly. Only the companionship of John and Mary’s painful silence to accompany him. And though he was certain John was nearly prepared to reconcile, Sherlock sought a reprieve.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just as she was sitting down to enjoy a mug of steaming hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and freshly baked (she iced just enough for now, she’ll get the rest tomorrow), Molly was interrupted by a knock at the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She didn’t have long to respond or even wonder about this when the sound of a key turning the lock and the sight of the handle twisting shocked her even further. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With hardly any thoughts in her head, besides maybe “I hope I don’t die tonight,” Molly sat frozen on her sofa as the possible offender in question entered her foyer––yes, that little strip of wall that contained her coat rack and kept her keys from being lost was her foyer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Molly took in the silhouette she was well acquainted with, she was suddenly, painfully aware of how forceful her heartbeat had become. She fought harder than she should’ve against the terrible self-awareness of her erratic breathing and flushed face, as it was sure to only exacerbate the issue. She silently chided herself for being surprised at all, considering the familiarity of the scene she was currently witnessing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Molly,” came the sonorous voice of the detective, reverberating into her living room; facing away from her while he hung up his coat and spoke at a regular volume. She knew by now that most of the choices Sherlock Holmes made were very rarely predictable, so how could it be a surprise for him to act unexpectedly?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Turning finally he noticed her frozen with eyes wide and mouth agape and he paused before coming to stand next to the chair near her. “May I have a seat?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Molly only nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took only another moment for Molly to blink rapidly as she seemed to shake herself out of her stupor. Then she was able to finally greet him properly. “Evening, Sherlock. What’re you doing here tonight? I heard you’d be with your family for Christmas.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, not until tomorrow.” He scowled, crinkling his nose in disbelief, “When it comes to my parents its best to maximize efficiency and minimize the amount of unnecessary time wasted on mindless lounging about.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The look on his face told her how incredibly tedious he found the whole charade and how idiotic the mere question must’ve seemed to him. It almost made her laugh to see the petulant child seeping through his otherwise stoic demeanor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Besides,” he continued, glancing about as if looking for something, “I didn’t want to wait until after the holidays to give you this.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And standing up he went to retrieve something from his coat pocket. As he returned he set a small, neatly wrapped, cylindrical-shaped box in front of her on the coffee table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You... got me a gift?” Molly asked, finding it difficult to keep the astonishment out of her voice. “But I didn’t get you anything. I- I didn’t think I’d be seeing anyone this year.” Her sentence trailed off a bit sadly at the end, having voiced the one point she’d hoped to avoid speaking out loud for another week at least. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock looked up from the box to give her, what he hoped was a reassuring smile, though he felt his mouth was too tight. His absence had done more damage than he’d thought. He’d perhaps assumed too much of the extenuating circumstances this time. Things weren’t the same now as when he’d normally swan off and get lost in a case, like before. He had John, and now there was Mary. But Molly, too, was no longer as carefree and unaffected. Not only had he been absent for longer than usual, shaking the solid ground of their normal routines, but she had her own losses to contend with. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How many times did he cause her to lose faith in him? When would he push her too far? Taking a deep breath and failing to keep the sadness out of his eyes he answered, “You don’t need to provide a gift to symbolize your friendship. You’ve proven to be a more loyal friend than I deserve.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he paused for a moment, Molly caught him looking almost wistful, before he continued.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am sorry to cause you to doubt your importance to me. Your place in my life has not changed. Consider this gift a token of my apology.” And he nudged the small box a little closer to her as he once again smiled and hoped that it reached his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hesitantly, Molly reached out and picked up the gold wrapped package, glancing timidly at Sherlock through her eyelashes as she slipped a finger under the fold of the paper, slowly, carefully opening his gift. Molly hoped her actions looked more decisive than she felt, willing herself to act instead of dwelling on the underlying emotions any longer. She’d accept his apology, and his gift, but she didn’t have the strength to resolve their relationship tonight. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Resolving</span>
  </em>
  <span> had a hint of finality to it, and she wasn’t sure, at this point, if she was ready for the outcome.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taking a delicate bottle from its cylindrical box, she felt her mood lift at the sight of the perfume it contained. Something so intimate, coming from him, Molly couldn’t help but feel hopeful again. Her response was evident on her face too, her smile brightened and told Sherlock all he needed to know for the time being. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And as they sat, nestled under three blankets, fully equipped with Christmas biscuits and hot chocolate, and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Doctor Who</span>
  </em>
  <span> Christmas Special Marathon queued up, Sherlock quietly resolved to repair the chasm between them. Remembering the pain he had seen on her face, wanting to have her trust never shaken like that again, Sherlock pledged silently to himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I will take care to respect our friendship, never putting up walls with her again</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He once again felt hopeful, because after tomorrow, he won’t have to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~oOo~</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Not my characters. They belong to someone else.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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